Tis The Season
by AlltheThangs
Summary: It's that time of year again, Christmas! A few new faces, a few new twists. AU with no zombies. Multi-chapter arc. Current T but has the ability to go to M. (Richonne for the Holidays Vol 3)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 _ *****I don't own TWD or any of its associated stuff. Ho ho ho!*****_

 **Me: This was always the plan, this story. I hope y'all like it!**

"I'm just thinking something bigger than the watch, you know?" Michonne mumbled between chews of her tri-tip sandwich. "We're married now. I want it to be really special, his gift. But he's so aggravating! Every time I ask him what he'd like, he says he already _has_ everything he wants!"

Andrea giggled. "Most women want your problems. You know that, right?" She dug into her shrimp fettucine. "With Phillip and I being relatively new, there's not as much pressure. I've already got this great Irish wool sweater and that Michael Buble CD he wanted. And you can quit rolling your eyes anytime, Michonne!"

"What? It's just at the music choice, _not_ the man. Seriously? Michael _Buble_?" Michonne covered quickly. The eye roll _had_ been a little about the man, too...but she was working on it. "That's _square_ , Andrea. You're not that buttoned down!"

Andrea took a sip of her cab. This monthly lunch was a ritual with them and Sal's had a menu that featured a lot of the comfort food they both loved as well as a pretty solid wine selection. "Buble is like Frank Sinatra or Dean Martin...retro cool. How is that square?"

"Because Frank Sinatra already _did_ Frank Sinatra, and much better than Buble is. Besides, you like fun stuff...wild stuff. You groove on Lady Gaga and Pink and 80's hair metal...you're a civil rights lawyer. There's nothing about you that says traditional."

"I think you're putting a little much on it, okay? We're talking about a CD, Michonne. People can like what they want to like. You don't build a relationship on shared musical tastes... _you_ should know that. One of you likes Johnny Cash and the other one likes Marvin Gaye. But you still work."

"You're not going to start teasing me about liking country just because I gave you shit about Michael Buble, are you?"

"If I gave you shit about anything, it'd be that your husband's got better taste in music than you. And getting back to that...if you can't pull the information out of Rick about what he wants for Christmas, is there another source you could get the information from? Somebody he tells that stuff to?"

Michonne snorted, taking a sip of her wine. "Who would I ask, _Daryl_? Assuming I could get a full sentence out of him, of course. Rick's parents wouldn't know. They love each other but it's in a very old-fashioned, non-communicative way. Every year they get him a new gun and a pair of socks. They're nice socks...but they're _socks_. He says he could always use more socks, though."

"Well, problem solved. Just get him some socks." Andrea hummed with pleasure as she tucked into her garlic bread, a house specialty of Sal's.

"Girl, get real. I could never get him socks. Even when we're ancient, I hope I don't get him socks."

"How did you come up with the watch last year?" Andrea queried, curious.

"His old one busted about a month before Christmas. I was out window shopping and saw it, knew that it would work perfectly with his style. Everything just fell into place. I got lucky."

"So maybe you'll get lucky again this year. Keep your eyes peeled and your ears alert. Maybe fate will set it up again this year, like last year," Andrea said encouragingly.

"Wouldn't _that_ be perfect?" Michonne sighed. "But you can't just expect this stuff to fall into place all on its own. You're right. I'm going to have to pay close attention. We've got only a little over three weeks til Christmas. I need to find something soon."

"What about the kids?" Andrea asked. "Phillip was easy, but Penny's where I'm having trouble. She's still kind of shy around me. I guess I can ask Phillip, though."

"The kids know how to do this, _they_ make lists, so we're all good there. And I've already got Mama, my nieces and nephews and my brothers and sister taken care of. Rick's parents, Rick and you are all I have left to worry about."

Andrea grinned mischievously. "Got ya beat. Already found yours about a month ago." She finished her glass of cab with a triumphant flourish.

Michonne smirked. "So I'll just have to make sure mine's better."

"Well if you're taking suggestions, I could really use a new Mercedes with all the options. And I'm not picky, it doesn't have to be gold. Silver works fine."

Michonne cracked up. "Even _Rick_ isn't getting a Mercedes. Besides, I've got you handled. I'm stopping by the Dollar Tree later."

Andrea flipped her off, though as usual, she did it good-naturedly. "How are we doing Christmas this year, anyway? Carol was saying something about heading out to the farm, maybe? Do we have firm plans yet?"

"Yeah. The general consensus is that Christmas Eve is when we're all planning to get together. Christmas everyone will do their own thing. The farm is a little far to go, though. Maggie said she and Glenn would be up for hosting. Carol wanted to, but doesn't know if her kitchen will be done by then."

"I love Hershel, but yeah, it'd be tough getting back for Christmas from the farm after Christmas Eve was done," Andrea said, shaking her head a little. "Thank goodness we're doing the Secret Santa thing this year. With as much as our extended family is growing...it'd bankrupt me to have to buy for everyone. Though I'm not sure what I'm going to get for the person I drew."

"Ooooo who'd you get?" Michonne squealed, excited.

"It's _secret_! We're not supposed to tell anyone til we exchange!"

"Did you get me?"

"No."

"Then quit being so ethical! I didn't get you, so we can tell each other!"

"Okay, okay," Andrea muttered. "I got...Merle. He _would_ have to come back to town for Christmas."

Michonne startled to cackle. "Oh, that's freaking hilarious! And to think, _I_ got his damn brother!"

" _No_!" Andrea exclaimed, disbelieving.

"Girl, _yes_. Maybe after lunch, we should _both_ head to the Dollar Tree!"

 **To Be Continued**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 _ *****Usual disclaimers. Don't own TWD or any of its stuff and thangs.*****_

 **Me: Short chapter, longer ones on the way** _ **.**_

Rick eyed Shane warily. The brown tomcat returned his stare. Slowly, Shane approached the food bowl Rick had set down. It was filled with his favorite wet food. He regarded the bowl briefly and looked up at Rick, expression almost mistrustful. He sniffed the bowl, then stuck his nose in. He commenced to eating, purring loudly as he enjoyed his morning meal.

True to her word, Michonne had researched training techniques for cats after the Thanksgiving fiasco. While there were no kitty obedience schools, (at least, not locally) there were plenty of websites that contained various experiences and valuable information.

"We need to make him like you," Michonne told her husband after a few days of compiling data. "There are some techniques for helping with that. As far as I can tell, it's the most effective solution. There are a few things we need to do immediately."

She had taken one of Rick's old t-shirts and placed it in Shane's kitty bed. Then, she insisted that Rick needed to be the one to start feeding Shane. "Also, and I know this is gonna sound crazy...you need to start talking to him."

He'd laughed in disbelief. "What? 'Chonne, you can't be serious."

"I am _dead_ serious. Talk to him. Use a friendly tone of voice. He needs to adapt to you as a non-threatening entity. According to what I've found...it sounds like Shane views you as intruding on his territory."

" _I'm_ intruding on _his_ territory? What a bunch of bull-"

She cut him off. "Yes, I know...Shane's the thorn in _your_ side, not the other way around. But I'm telling you what I've read. This is how his feline brain processes it...which means you have to make nice. No yelling. No threats of drowning. No kicking."

"I don't kick him!" Rick protested. Michonne fixed him with a look. "Well...maybe just the one time," Rick amended guiltily, cutting his gaze away from her. "Okay, okay. What else?"

"We're going to get a laser pointer and you're going to use it to help Shane get some exercise," Michonne explained. "You two are going to be best friends."

"You _sure_ drownin' isn't an option?" Rick muttered.

Rick wasn't overjoyed at this, but was willing to give it a try for peace within the household. Two weeks later things were moving along according to plan, much to his surprise. The hissing and spitting had greatly reduced, and Shane was able to be in the same room with Rick for extended periods of time without going berserk. The pointer game was actually kind of fun. Rick had no idea Shane could jump so high...and liked testing the cat's limits.

The talking part was kind of strange. What, exactly, were you supposed to say to a cat? At first, Rick found himself stumbling over what to talk about. He'd describe the weather, or describe what he'd eaten that day, feeling like the world's biggest idiot.

But as the days went by...Rick found himself, oddly enough, actually talking to the cat about what was on his mind. He'd complain about how green his partner Leo was, or relate his plans to remodel the front yard.

Today, however, there was a very specific worry invading his thoughts.

"Shane, ole' buddy, I have got myself a problem," Rick began. Shane's ears twitched at Rick's words but he continued to eat, intent on his meal. "I don't know what to get Michonne for Christmas.

"Last year it wasn't tough. She wanted those boots and books...but this year...I don't have a clue. I don't want to ask her, because then she'd have an idea of what she was gettin'. And sure, there's small stuff she could use or that she'd like...but we're married now."

Rick sighed deeply. "It has to be somethin' _big_. All this stuff recently with Lori...she's been so good about everything. I want to give her somethin' really, really special. But I don't know what that is."

Shane, who'd finished his meal, raised his whiskered face and meowed.

"I _could_ ask around. Maybe Andrea or Simeon would have some ideas...though I guess that depends on how much I trust them to keep their mouths shut. When you look at it that way...Simeon would be the better bet. What do you think, Shane?"

Shane's expression, if one could call it that, was disdainful.

"Yeah? What would _you_ know about it? You're just a cat," Rick scoffed. "Although," he sighed heavily, scratching the back of his neck, "that makes _me_ the crazy person talkin' to a cat."

Shane purred his agreement and strutted out of the kitchen, tail jauntily upright.

He'd have to talk to Simeon soon, _very_ soon. There wasn't much time left before Christmas and Michonne was who he had left to worry about. Well, Michonne...and who he'd drawn for Secret Santa. Just his luck that he'd drawn Ezekiel.

 _Maybe I can find something for him at the Dollar Tree._

 **To Be Continued**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 _ *****Usual disclaimers. Don't own TWD or any of the stuff and thangs. At present, wouldn't want to. That MSF was a stinker.*****_

 **Me: My apologies for the delay in updating...holiday goodness and crazy work are the reasons. Hope your own holidays are joyful and merry!**

Carl sighed as he put the scarf back down, shaking his head. "I don't think this is it."

"Nothing has 'been it' at the last ten stores," Enid noted. "Michonne likes a lot of stuff. Maybe you're just, like, thinking about it too much. I think she'd like anything you got her…'cause it'd be from you."

Carl took her hand and squeezed it quickly before letting it go, slightly flushed. Enid had come with him to the mall to buy presents and she'd already picked out what she'd come to get...but Carl was having a tougher time. Judith had been easy because she'd made a list. He always got his dad socks (the nice ones), since he liked them so much and seemed to go through so many pairs, and for his mom he'd decided on some of the chocolates he knew Lori liked. But Mich was a different story. He wanted to get her something really cool that he knew she'd be surprised by...but he was also operating on limited funds, which made it kind of difficult.

"But I want it to be...really cool. I want it to be something that makes her happy because she wasn't expecting it, you know?" Carl explained to Enid. "I didn't get her anything last year 'cause Dad put all our names on the gift he got her. _This_ year, it's different. She's my...well, my other mom, and she's been really cool about Mom and is really nice to her. She didn't have to be that cool about everything...but she was. So it _has_ to be special."

Enid nodded her understanding. "I get it. We'll keep looking."

An hour later two very disgruntled teens flopped down into seats at the food court, having just ordered bacon cheeseburgers, fries and sodas.

"There isn't _anything_ here," Carl grumbled.

"It's not that there's nothing here," Enid observed sagely, "It's that there's nothing here that's going to work. But it's not like we've looked in every single store. And there's always other places. You don't have to find it today, Carl."

"I know...but Christmas isn't far away. Maybe there's time, but there's not that much of it."

A surly-looking boy with unruly black hair and copious amounts of acne banged down a tray with their food on the table, causing them both to jump. "ThanksforchoosingKingsBurger, whereeveryoneeatslikeaking. Enjoy," he intoned. He slunk off.

Both examined the food cautiously before coming to the conclusion that it was okay. They dug in. Enid took a large bite out of her burger while Carl chewed meditatively on a fry.

"I know she really likes Japanese stuff," Carl reflected. "After lunch we can check out that import shop upstairs. Maybe they'll have something," he finished hopefully.

"Yush. Lezz ger chik ut oot uffer wuh oot," Enid mumbled thickly around a mouth of burger.

"Huh?" Carl asked, bewildered.

Enid swallowed her bite of burger noisily. "I said, 'Yes, let's go check it out after we eat.' Sorry, but I _am_ starving. We've been walking around a lot."

Carl's face flushed again...which seemed to happen a lot whenever he was around her. "I'm sorry. Yeah, of course."

"Don't be sorry." She gave him a soft smile and reached out to squeeze his hand. "But just let me finish this." She gestured with the hand that was holding her burger. "And you should finish yours, too. We're gonna find something. I know it."

They ate their food, Enid with some haste and Carl not far behind her. After, they headed towards the import shop, which every once on a while, despite having a lot of worthless gewgaws and some items that were frankly tacky, had a few things that were truly remarkable.

It didn't take long to find it.

On a wooden rack in the shop rested a wakizashi, a kodachi and a katana. The katana had a brown and white scabbard that appeared to be made of leather.

Carl removed it carefully from the rack and held it up. It was surprisingly light. He unsheathed it, pleased at the snicking sound it made. The blade gleamed brightly, especially under the store's lights. It was like something out of the samurai movies Mich was always watching.

" _Very_ cool," Enid said approvingly.

"Be careful with that!" came a tense voice from behind them. They turned to find a harassed - looking woman with a disheveled blonde bun and freckled face looking worriedly at the blade. Her name tag, proclaiming her as Betsy, indicated she was an employee of the store.

"It's sitting right there on the rack," Enid snapped defensively. "And we're not little kids! It's not like he's gonna cut himself."

"I just wanted to see what it looked like," Carl explained, sheathing the sword slowly back in the scabbard. "I'm looking for a present for my stepmom and she loves this kinda stuff."

Betsy relaxed visibly. "Okay. Sorry about that...but you wouldn't believe how many people start swinging that thing around, thinking they're Toshiro Mifune! We've had stuff knocked over, broken. Our manager was talking about putting it behind the counter." She sighed deeply.

"How much is it?" Carl asked eagerly.

"It's actually kind of a bargain!" Betsy perked up. "There's this swordsmith out of Japan, Ryuichi Takanashi, who makes traditional swords. His stuff actually comes with certificates of authenticity...for the technique and everything. He's gaining a reputation. We were lucky to get this one. It's not one of his fancier works...but still pretty great," she enthused.

"That's cool, but...the price?" Enid prompted gently.

"Only five hundred! Can you believe it? It's practically a steal," Betsy replied happily. "Most of his stuff is at least a thousand."

Carl's heart sank. Five hundred, even as a steal, was more than he had. He was only carrying seventy-five. He did have another hundred and fifty at home, which he'd been saving towards an Xbox...but that could wait.

"Is there any way that I could put down some money on it to hold it?" Carl questioned.

Betsy brow furrowed. "Layaway isn't something we normally do...but if you put down 20% I could hold it for a couple weeks," she offered.

"I only have seventy-five," Carl said regretfully.

"Here's twenty-five." Enid had dug into her small purse and held out a couple of crumpled bills.

"I can't take that-" Carl protested.

"Don't be dumb. You can take it. I know this is important...and I really like Mich, too. And I'm guessing you have a plan for the rest of the money, right?"

Carl's expression was one of quiet resolve. "I do."

"Then don't be stupid, take it. If it bugs you that much, you can always pay me back...or take me out sometime. Like on a _real_ date." She handed over the money, noting Carl's surprised look of pleasure. She smiled to herself.

He handed Betsy the hundred. She took the sword off the wooden rack and motioned them to come up to the counter. "I'll get you a receipt written up. Don't worry, if you can't come up with the rest, the deposit's refundable."

"I'll come up with the rest," Carl stated firmly. "This is her gift, this is it."

 **To Be Continued**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 _ *****'Tis the season to declare I don't own TWD or its associated stuff and things.*****_

 **Me: Okay, so just an FYI: I don't hate Merle. Michael Rooker's portrayal of this character in S3 really turned me around on Merle, and my version does away with the racist tendencies that came with that character initially...though he's still pretty roguish.**

"When are y'gonna get your own place, Merle?" Daryl muttered, tossing Merle's rucksack full of possessions out of the way as he collapsed into the recliner in his living room.

"Relax, little brother," Merle Dixon drawled. "I've only been back to town for a week now. Soon as Scooter hooks me up with that mechanic job, I'm outta your hair. I'll be renting his spare house over on Duluth. Besides, it's the holidays! Y'should be _glad_ to have family around this time of year."

"Yeah, well, good as it is t'see you, it gets cramped with two people in a one-bedroom apartment," Daryl grumbled, cracking his can of Budweiser.

"Don't know why you don't get yourself a nicer place." Merle raised an eyebrow, looking around at the somewhat shabby surroundings. Daryl's idea of interior decorating was a buck's head mounted on the wall and a velvet tapestry of dogs playing poker. "You make enough money. Don't you wanna get yourself a wife someday? Maybe have a couple of rugrats?"

Daryl shrugged and took a swig of beer. "I'm hardly ever here, most of the time. Who needs a big place? And who's thinkin' about a wife and kids? What woman wants to marry a bounty hunter?"

"You'd be surprised," Merle answered. "So we headed to Officer Friendly's for Christmas Eve?"

"Naw, Glenn and Maggie's."

"And you picked Andrea's name for me on that Secret Santa thing," Merle mused, heading to the kitchen to grab his own beer out of the fridge.

"Leave it alone, bro!" Daryl called after him. "Told you she's dating that pretty boy with the fancy job. Been a few months now...and she seems to like him a lot."

Merle sauntered back into the living room, bottle of Heineken in hand. "Datin' ain't exactly married. And what makes you think I've got plans for her?"

"'Cuz I know you. I know you two were messin' around for a bit before you shipped out. I caught her comin' outta your place that one mornin'. Figured it weren't nothin' serious, since you left."

"Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't," Merle retorted. "I sure don't recall it bein' any of your business. Besides, we're all adults here."

Daryl eyed him with skepticism. "Whatever you say, bro."

Merle's upper lip curled. "Just stay out of it, little brother. I don't plan to make her do anything she doesn't wanna. No need to get all protective. Who'd you get, anyway?"

Daryl took a long pull from his beer and shook his head. "I pulled the guy Andrea's datin'. No idea what I'm gonna get 'im. Guess I could always give him some of my venison jerky."

"It _is_ pretty good. Speaking of which...y'got any left?"

Daryl motioned towards the kitchen. "Yeah, it's in the Ziploc baggie next t'the toaster."

Merle went back into the kitchen and located the baggie Daryl had been referring to, fishing a large piece of the jerky out. Leaning against the kitchen counter, he alternated taking bites of the jerky and sips of his beer. The sound of the television turning on in the living room let him know that Daryl was now occupied, giving Merle the freedom to be alone with his thoughts.

The thing with him and Andrea was a surprise to both of them. She wanted to learn how to shoot a gun, said she thought it was a useful skill to learn given some of the rougher neighborhoods her work sometimes seemed to bring her to...but he had wondered privately at the time she'd asked him if she wanted the excitement of it. She might be a lawyer, and spend a lot of her days being proper and professional for the sake of her job and clients...but he could recognize the thrill-seeker underneath.

She could've asked Daryl to teach her, but his little brother wasn't the talkative sort and she could've been self-conscious about asking him since she'd accidentally whacked him in the head once with a metal pipe when they'd been helping Michonne move out of her apartment into Rick's house. It had been hard enough to draw a little blood...and Daryl, though normally mute, had plenty to say at the time it had happened.

Officer Friendly would've been another option...but she may have balked at that because Rick was her best friend's husband. Merle had felt some curiosity about her particular choice of him as a teacher...but with his military experience and years spent living on the wrong side of the law in his younger, wilder days, he knew his way around weapons.

He'd always found her attractive, but had seen he and Andrea as being too different from each other to ever consider pursuing her in any way. It had been as much of a surprise to him as it was to her that as the days passed with them spending time at the shooting range that a closeness seemed to develop. He'd taken her to a few of the bars he hung out in on occasion and been gratified to see she was a mean pool player and dart thrower who was more than capable of letting her hair down.

She'd taken him to some of the restaurants she liked to frequent and introduced him to Hong Kong cinema at the art house theater.

They'd circled one another slowly, and he'd been shocked when she was the one to make the first move. He'd been working his nerve up to do it...and nerve wasn't generally a thing he was short on. But she'd given him a kiss when they'd been saying good night to each other after shooting some pool one night and next thing you knew, they'd become a...well, maybe not a couple...but something that looked a lot like one.

They'd both kept quiet about it...though Daryl _had_ caught her coming out of his place rather early in the morning. Given the disheveled look of her, there'd been no option to lie about what she'd been doing at his place at seven on a Sunday morning. Daryl being Daryl meant he wouldn't have mentioned it to anyone else and wouldn't ask Merle about it...though his expression when she'd hurried to her car after greeting Daryl with an embarrassed grin spoke volumes.

The involvement between them had continued for a few months...but he'd been given an opportunity to ship out on a vessel and figured he could use the money, given that his last jaunt at sea had been close to a year ago.

He'd been thinking of giving up the mariner life for a while now, but the thing with Andrea threw him. He'd developed feelings for her unlike anything he'd ever felt for a woman before...so naturally it made him want to leave the country.

She'd regarded him with cool eyes when he'd broken the news of his departure to her. "It was fun while it lasted," she'd said nonchalantly, upping his admiration for her tenfold.

He figured that months at sea would chase away this peculiar attachment he'd grown to feel for her...but he'd been wrong. If anything, his heart (and other parts of him) yearned for her more than ever.

Merle wasn't a man who put much faith in signs...but he hoped that Daryl drawing Andrea's name for him was an indication of things to come. He hoped that very much.

And he already had a gift for her.

 **To Be Continued**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 _ *****Usual disclaimers. No TWD stuff do I own or profit from.*****_

"Michonne, you okay?" Selene, her co-worker, asked worriedly. "You don't look so well."

Michonne had to admit that she didn't feel so well. Her stomach was queasy and her breakfast was not sitting comfortably. She'd only had a banana smoothie and an English muffin. Inwardly, she cursed. This was the time of year that illness seemed to run rampant. Perhaps she'd picked something up around the office or from one of the kids.

"I-" She opened her mouth to respond to Selene but got no further. Quickly, she grabbed her waste basket from underneath her desk and without further ado immediately vomited into it. The smell of her regurgitated banana smoothie made her dizzy. The waste basket clattered from her hand to the floor and she rested her head against her desk, trying to orient herself.

"Michonne!" Selene exclaimed. "Oh honey...was it something you ate?" Her hand came to rest on Michonne's shoulder, warm and reassuring.

"I...don't think so," Michonne responded tentatively between deep breaths. "I didn't actually eat that much this morning. Maybe there's some kind of stomach bug going around?"

"Hmmmmm, none that I'm aware of," Selene said pensively. "This has actually been a good year for that, not much going around. I have four kids, so believe me, EVERY kind of bug floating around usually ends up in my house, sooner rather than later." Selene's hand patted her shoulder gently. "Maybe you should go home, in case it's something, though."

Slowly, Michonne raised her head. Throwing up _had_ made her feel better...and she felt with a little clean up she'd be okay to work the rest of the day. "I don't feel bad, now that I've thrown up," she answered. "Maybe you're right...maybe it was something I ate."

"I'm sure that's probably it," Selene agreed. With one last pat, she removed her hand from Michonne's shoulder. Suddenly, she laughed. "You know what this reminds me of? When I was pregnant with Bryce, then Melanie. My morning sickness with those two was so bad! I swear, the only thing I could hold down in the mornings for a while were Saltines!"

At these words, Michonne's mind began to race. When was the last time she'd had a period? She started calculating backwards. Four-no, five...six weeks ago! And she was regular as a clock, every four weeks.

How had it happened? She'd put her diaphragm in faithfully...hadn't she? _Stop it_ , she told herself. _You don't know that there's anything to worry about yet. Go to the drugstore at lunch, grab a test and find out before you start thinking of yourself as_...But her mind wouldn't complete the thought.

Selene was still chuckling, lost in her memories. "I love my kids...but gosh, am I glad I won't have to go through all _that_ again!"

Michonne gave her a tremulous smile. "Guess I'd better go clean myself up," she noted.

"Oh, what can I be thinking of...Sorry, honey. Kinda got caught up in a blast from the past there. Of course you want to clean up. I've got some mouthwash, if you need it!"

Michonne took Selene up on her offer of mouthwash and hurried to the bathroom. A good, vigorous rinse had her mouth feeling (and tasting) much better. She studied her reflection in the mirror. _You don't look pregnant_ , she thought. _You can't be...can you_?

There was only one way to find out.

She went to the Rite Aid that was a few blocks away on lunch and grabbed the test. Once she got back to work, she headed again to the bathroom. She couldn't wait til she got home...she had to know now.

It was the longest three minutes of her life, waiting for that result. A baby would change everything...wouldn't it? Rick had already come ready-made with kids...kids she loved a lot. Having her own just wasn't something that had occurred to her...not since she was twenty-three and had that scare with Santiago when the condom broke...and _that_ relationship had ended pretty quickly after that, even though she had turned out not to be pregnant. It had been too much reality to face at that age.

It wasn't something her life needed at this point...was it? Of course, Mama would love having another grandchild. And her brothers would be excited...they'd always teased her about having one of her own. Andrea would love to throw her a baby shower. Carol would probably knit the cutest baby clothes anyone had ever seen. Maggie would be so excited.

And Rick...what would Rick think? Had the subject of a child of their own ever come up? She didn't think it had. How did _she_ feel about it? Would she want a tall, lean girl that had his bow legs and cute Southern drawl? Would she prefer a boy with her dark skin and penchant for Japanese culture who spoke with her cultured enunciation?

Her eyes closed against the onslaught of possibilities. _Better look at the stick first_ , she reminded herself. She had made a point not to watch it while waiting for it to yield its result.

The stick showed a plus. A _plus_. She would need to call her doctor to set up an appointment, of course, and formalize the result...but she knew the literature. When used correctly, home pregnancy tests were ninety-nine percent accurate. The likelihood of a false positive was very, very slim.

Shock stole over her. Being certain of something in your head was one thing...but confirmation was something else entirely. She, barring anything unforeseen, was pregnant. She was growing a little life that was part her, part Rick. It frightened her...but at the same time she could feel a warm glow spreading throughout her whole body.

She wrapped up the stick in thick wads of toilet paper and stuck it in her purse, in case the doctor needed to see it. Then she took out her cell and dialed Dr. Rutherford's office. She explained the situation to Dawn, his medical assistant, who told her to come in and they'd draw blood for the formal test.

She stopped by the office on the way home and had them draw the blood. That night, as she ate dinner with Rick and the kids, she pictured one more person at the table, a little boy or girl yet to be born...and was surprised at how _right_ it felt. Still...she needed to know for sure.

A few days later Dawn called her as she was getting ready to leave for the office. "The results of your pregnancy test are positive, Michonne. Based on the information you provided and your HCG levels...you appear to be seven weeks. Congratulations! We'll set up an appointment with the doctor to get you prenatal vitamins and go over a few things."

"Thanks, Dawn," Michonne replied. They arranged the details and she hung up the phone.

For a minute, she stood there. Rick was gone to work already. The kids were already at school. Right at this moment, the only people who knew she was pregnant were Dawn, Dr Rutherford, herself...and the tiny bundle she was carrying.

She placed a hand over her belly and rubbed it tenderly. "Hello, little one," she whispered. "Now we just need to tell your daddy and make sure he's on board with everything." But somehow...she wasn't worried about it. They loved each other. It would be okay.

Suddenly, she began to laugh. Fate had taken care of Rick's Christmas present...again.

And he'd be getting it a bit early this year.

 **To Be Continued**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 **Me: Sorry about the wait! Life gets in the way, sometimes. Art smarties, any liberties taken or errors made are entirely mine.**

Rick and Simeon stood in the Xavier gallery and contemplated a canvas covered with smears of yellow, orange and red paint entitled, "The Plight of Darfur." Rick shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. "It's just that I…" Rick started hesitantly. He shook his head, then continued. "I don't...really get it."

Simeon laughed low but deep, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He was a tall, lanky man with a flamboyant Afro and the mahogany skin of his sister. "It's not just you, Rick. Abstraction is something a lot of people don't 'get.' This style is about conveying concepts and ideas through color, lines and form. It's meant to evoke certain emotions or reactions tied to the concept being expressed."

"Call me old-fashioned, but I like my art to look like things. You know, a sunset. A pond of water lilies. A dead-eyed Italian lady with a part in her hair," Rick grumbled.

Simeon laughed again, a little louder this time which drew a sharp look from the gallerista. "You married my sister, and this is what she likes. But if it makes you feel any better, I don't really like it, either. I, too, like my art to 'look like things.'"

"At this rate, I'm not sure we're gonna find anything," Rick sighed.

"We'll keep looking," Simeon replied encouragingly. "This is only the third gallery we've been to, there are more to go. I've got all day to help you. We're going to find it."

Rick suppressed a groan. A whole day of combing through galleries and checking out artwork that resembled spastic finger-painting from severely disturbed children held no appeal at all...but this was for Michonne. He just had to keep reminding himself of that.

Three more galleries later and he was having to work really hard to convince himself that he and Simeon were going to find something that would work as an actual gift. It wasn't even that everything they'd seen was totally awful, (he was starting to get abstraction...kind of) but nothing gave him the feeling he was looking for. Nothing _felt_ like Michonne's gift.

He and Simeon found themselves at Boudreaux's, him tucking into a shrimp po'boy and Simeon devouring teriyaki-glazed short ribs. "I'm beginning to wonder if we're gonna find anything that works," Rick confessed in between mouthfuls of his sandwich.

Simeon swallowed his bite of miso mashed potatoes before answering. "It's not hopeless, not yet. We've still got a few more places to look. I'll grant you, none of what we've seen so far is quite what we're looking for...but don't get discouraged. It's out there, your perfect gift. For what it's worth, I understand what you're going through."

Rick grinned. "You also had to run around trying to find an abstract work of modern art to give to a loved one for Christmas?"

Simeon's eyes became unreadable. "Not an abstract work of modern art, no. But one Christmas, I had a really difficult time trying to find a gift for Adrienne. We agreed not to make lists...which is a horrible idea, by the way. She loved vintage fashion and art deco jewelry. Finding a piece that worked for her was a pain in the-well, you know. After a few weeks of searching, I finally found a necklace that I knew would be perfect. And she loved it. Seeing her face when she opened that box was worth every day I went looking."

The grin left Rick's face immediately. Adrienne had been- _was_ -Simeon's wife. She had died of brain cancer after a battle of two years in which her ability to function rapidly deteriorated. By the end, she couldn't recognize anyone, including her husband and daughter. She had now been gone for six years...before Rick and Michonne started dating. Michonne had told him all about was the sibling she was closest to, and she had helped her brother and niece through Adrienne's death as best she could.

"Simeon, I-damn it, I'm sorry. Me and my dumb-"

Simeon held up a hand to silence Rick. "Stop it. No need to apologize. I had a wife I loved more than anyone...except our daughter. I was lucky enough to have her for twelve years before she passed away. Even with as bad as it was in the end...I wouldn't have changed anything. She was a large part of my life. She was my best friend. It would be so strange to never speak of her, as if she had never existed. Adrienne has been gone for a while now. My grief and pain, these are things I've had time to come to terms with."

Rick nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

"I bring her up because watching you search for Michonne's gift, and getting frustrated about it, brought that Christmas so much to my mind. I was so annoyed!" He chuckled at the memory, gaze soft with remembrance. "Searching through consignment shops was about as fun as getting a root canal. There were a couple of days I just wanted to give up and get her something easy...even if I knew she wouldn't like it as much. But seeing how happy she was...I would have searched five times as long as I did, to make her that happy."

Rick cleared his throat and rubbed at the suspicious moisture that had gathered at the corners of his eyes. "I'm not gonna give up. I want to find a gift that will make Michonne as happy as Adrienne was. I want her to know what she means to me."

"We will find it. If you need more of my assistance, I'll make arrangements. The good news about being a food critic is that it gives you great flexibility. I can see how much you love my sister, and I know how much she loves you," Simeon said firmly. "The things that we give each other are just things...but they're one of the imperfect ways we have of showing how much we care." Simeon picked up a short rib and took a large bite, chewing contemplatively, then swallowed. "You know, this place isn't half-bad. They're worth a review."

Taking that as a not-so-subtle signal to change the subject, Rick obliged. "I agree. This po'boy is pretty tasty. And the fried okra and dippin' sauce...hard to find better outside of your grandma's."

"I'm thinking dessert," Simeon mused. "The creme brulee sounds delicious."

"I was thinking the banana cream pie, myself," Rick responded, after a quick perusal of the menu.

Simeon laughed. "So dessert it is. There's the waiter. Here, let me flag him down. Excuse me...Spencer? We'd like to order some dessert, please."

 **To Be Continued**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

 *****Usual disclaimers. I don't own TWD or anything to do with TWD. That's all other people.*****

Carol set a plate of cookies and glasses of milk before Sophia, Carl and Enid. "I _do_ have a few things you can help with, sweetheart. It adds up to maybe four or five hours of work, all told. It may not be enough to get you the rest of the money you'll need for Michonne's gift, though."

Carl grinned at her and took a cookie from the plate. "I'm doing some other stuff, too. Mrs. Haskins has me cleaning out her rain gutters, I'm walking some dogs for Mr. Dvorak while his relatives are visiting and Dad is gonna pay me a little to watch Jude when he takes Mich on a date this weekend. I also sold a few of my old video games, so if you have only a little work for me, that's cool. I shouldn't need much after all the other stuff."

Carol ruffled his hair as he took a huge bite of cookie. "You're such a good kid! I need some help organizing some things in the garage that have been hanging out for a while. Nothing too tough, should take us an hour or two, tops. There's also one other thing at the church we've been looking for some help with. Are you free this upcoming Sunday?"

"Yup!" Carl replied around his mouthful of cookie.

"You might want to hear it before you agree, Carl," Carol cautioned. "We've got Mr. Jorgensen to agree to play Santa for the Sunday school classes, but we need a couple elves to help manage and escort the kiddies over to him. I'd need you to be one of the elves."

Carl began coughing as his mouthful of cookie went down the wrong pipe. Sophia quickly handed him his glass of milk while Edith thumped him gently on the back. "You gonna live?" she teased him gently as he took a huge gulp of the milk.

"Oh Carl, are you alright?" Carol asked worriedly. "I wasn't _trying_ to make you choke! It wouldn't be that bad, you know. We already have a costume for you...and you actually know the other elf."

Carl took another sip of milk as he tried to stall for time. Dressing like an elf was not something he'd had in mind when he'd offered to help Carol...his main thought had just been about bridging the small gap he had left to earn the rest of the money he needed for Mich's gift after he completed the other work he'd lined up. The thought of donning an elf costume, even if just in front of small children, was embarrassing enough to make his cheeks flush a little. Not to mention the thought of people he actually knew seeing him dressed that way. Sophia would be there...as would Enid.

On the other hand, he _did_ need the money. And Carol was always so nice. She'd been completely willing to give him things to do to help earn the money for Mich's gift. She was like a cool aunt. A cool aunt that made the best cookies in the world. He really hated the thought of disappointing her. That more than anything prompted the next words he spoke.

"S' okay...that bite just went down wrong. I can help out on Sunday. Who's going to be the other elf?"

"It's me," Enid grinned. "I've already got our elf names picked out, too. You're Jingles and I'm Holly."

Carl felt his cheeks flush. " _You're_ the other elf?" he questioned her incredulously. "Don't you think that-" He was going to finish with, "that's really embarrassing," but then he remembered Carol was right there, and shut his mouth abruptly.

"I _do_ think it's a great way to help out the church and that the kids will love our elf names," Enid responded sweetly, the tone of her voice at odds with the sly look of amusement she shot at Carl while Carol turned back to the stove to check on the sauce she was preparing for that night's dinner. "It should be a lot of fun."

"Sophia, you didn't want to be an elf?" Carl asked her, looking for something to distract himself from the conflicting emotions he felt at the prospect of being an elf with Enid. On the one hand, the thought of having to dress up in the costume and being in the public eye was humiliating. But on the other hand, it was time with Enid, and they'd look like a...well, like a couple. Maybe a couple of dumbasses, but still...a couple.

Sophia shook her head emphatically. "Nuh-uh. All those people staring, having to wear that costume...Mom asked me already. There's no way."

Carol gave her daughter an exasperated look. "I think it would be good for you, honey! We need to get you out of your shell, more."

"Sure. And when I'm describing it to a therapist in ten years, you can pay the bill," Sophia cracked. "Besides, I'm in the live nativity scene as one of the wise men!"

Carol sighed and shook her head. "Fine. I know Carl and Enid will do a wonderful job, anyway. We've got candy canes for you to hand out to the children while they wait to see Mr. Jorg-I mean, Santa. It should be a lot of fun, you two! Thanks so much for agreeing to help out." She beamed at them before turning back to tend to her sauce.

"So it's you and me, Carl," Enid singsonged, giving him a gentle elbow in the side. Her eyes danced merrily as she gave him a long look. "Better practice your elf voice before Sunday."

"Elf voice?" Carl asked uneasily. "What do you mean, 'elf voice?'"

Enid pitched her voice high and replied giddily, "Gosh, Jingles, I mean we gotta talk like this! The kids are expecting _real elves_! Give it a try!"

Carl looked at her as if she were mad. "You can't be serious," he swallowed heavily.

"I'm one-hundred percent serious. Go on, Jingles."

Carl cleared his throat and opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

 _Yeah, a couple of dumbasses for sure. What have I gotten myself into?_

 **To Be Continued**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Andrea hummed along with "Jingle Bell Rock" as she put the finishing touches on the wrapping for Michonne's present. She was pleased with the gift she'd picked up for her friend, and knew that the beautiful set of iridescent wine glasses would please Michonne enormously. They would replace the set that Glenn had accidentally dropped and broken when they'd helped Michonne move in with Rick.

She was almost done wrapping all her presents. After consulting with Phillip, she'd even managed to get something for Penny, a gorgeously-illustrated storybook that Phillip advised was on her wishlist. That took care of everyone. Everyone except…

"Jingle Bell Rock" ended, giving way to "All I Want For Christmas Is You." Frowning, she fast-forwarded past it to "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," breathing an audible sigh of relief that it wasn't another romantic song. She took a sip of her shiraz and placed Michonne's gift under her tree, admiring the pretty picture it presented.

Phillip had helped her decorate the tree. He had helped her string popcorn, hang the ornaments, and put up the lights and they'd listened to Josh Groban while he told her about his childhood Christmases in Macon, spent with his grandparents. She didn't like Josh Groban at all...but she knew Phillip didn't care for the funkier contemporary entries in the Christmas song catalogue that she preferred. Imagining his reaction to "Christmas In Hollis" or "Oi To The World" made her chuckle.

 _Merle would've been fine listening to your music_ , the little voice she'd been trying to silence since he'd gone away piped up.

"You shut up," she told the voice fiercely, thanking God there wasn't anyone else there to hear or they'd think she'd gone crazy. "He left you...and your music."

It still hurt to think about. She hadn't planned on getting in as deep as she did.

At first, it really had only been about learning to use a firearm. She had been finding herself in rougher neighborhoods with the work she'd been doing at the time, and though she hoped fervently she'd never have to use it, she'd purchased a gun for protection. Getting mugged once was enough. To paraphrase Theodore Roosevelt, she would walk softly...but carry a big stick.

There were plenty of teachers to choose from, but she'd never gotten along that well with Daryl. (Especially after accidentally hitting him in the head with that pipe) And though she knew Michonne wouldn't have minded, the thought of asking Rick felt a little strange. Maggie just hadn't had the time...not between work and the kids. Merle seemed like the best bet. Since coming back from his last mariner jaunt, he'd had plenty of time on his hands. While they'd never been particularly close, they'd always gotten along well enough.

Merle had agreed quickly, much to her relief. Since he did have so much free time, they'd spent a few days a week at the shooting range. And since it was a ways out, it just made sense to conserve gas by riding together. If they'd spent a little longer than planned and were both ravenous on the way back, it seemed best to stop somewhere and grab something to eat, maybe have a drink or two.

It had all happened naturally enough. She'd taken him to Flynn's, one of her favorite watering holes, after a particularly fun day at the range. Flynn's had a surprisingly decent wine selection for a dive bar and three pool tables. The jukebox offered up a baffling mishmash of vintage country, eighties hair metal and dance diva favorites, which never failed to amuse her.

He was beating her soundly, which was partially due to the fact that she'd drunk two glasses of cab prior to chowing down on her burger and sweet potato fries and was feeling pretty buzzed, and partially because she found herself distracted by his appealing, devilish grin and the way he was effortlessly sinking every shot.

Even at the shooting range...the self-assurance that he displayed and the ease with which he handled the gun held a blatant, visceral appeal. The lawyer in her could observe with cool detachment that an air of confidence in any human being, be they man or woman, had the power to stir the endocrine system of the person making note of it...but the woman in her, gripped by raw attraction, couldn't stop wondering what other areas he excelled in to engender such an air of confidence.

Somehow, her intuition was convinced that he definitely wasn't all show.

After he'd finished trouncing her at pool, he'd driven her home. She felt absurdly touched when he insisted on seeing her to her door, finding it sweet and chivalrous. (Little did she know he was concerned she was not sober enough to make it the twenty-five feet to her front door in one piece)

On the porch she fumbled with extracting her keys from her purse. The process was made slower by the loose hair from her ponytail that kept falling in her eyes that she tried in vain to move away. Merle snickered a bit, watching her futile attempts to blow it out of her eyes, before reaching out and tucking the errant strands behind her ears himself.

The light brush of his fingertips on her ear lobe as he settled her hair behind her ears was something she felt down to the core of her being. It was a shock, having such a strong, instantaneous response to such a light touch. That might've been what prompted her to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him soundly.

The rest was a _fait accompli._ And she was intensely gratified (in more ways than one) to discover that her intuition had been right. The man was confident with excellent reason.

They began to spend more and more time together. Though they never referred to themselves as a couple...they started to look like one.

And feel like one. Andrea wasn't sure of the exact moment when what she began to feel for Merle changed from simple like and attraction to something deeper...but it was before he'd hit her with the news that he was going back out to sea.

He was leaving her.

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing how his news affected her. You couldn't be any kind of a lawyer without cultivating a good poker face. She gave him a flippant reply in a nonchalant tone of voice...and then found an excuse to leave so she could go home and have a big cry.

The next couple months were horribly depressing. She was sad...but there was no one she could tell about it. Michonne was an open-minded, wonderful best friend...but Andrea wasn't ready to share this folly with anyone, even her best friend. After all, nothing had come of it, and she was loathe to admit to anyone what a fool she'd been.

She was finally at a place where she was ready to move on when Phillip came into her life. Despite initial misgivings that he was too uptight and, well, _square,_ (not that she'd ever tell Michonne in a million years that she'd thought that) she found herself liking him...A lot. He was sweet and attentive, and now that she was at a point on her life where she'd begun to think about settling down, his calm and steady nature was just what the doctor ordered.

If the little voice in her head that was still fretting over Merle piped up from time to time...she was prepared to quash it ruthlessly. There was no future there. His desertion, and then subsequent lack of communication, made that abundantly clear.

If her heart was having trouble letting go...then her head would just have to help it along.

The strains of "Blue Christmas" came into the living room. Uttering a soft curse, she stalked over to her computer and closed the playlist.

"You shut up, too," she growled at the computer, before heading to the kitchen to pour another glass of wine.

 **To Be Continued**


End file.
